


height of hate

by newt_scamander



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Absolution, Abuse, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Hurt, M/M, Self-Flagellation, Sexual Abuse, Shapeshifting, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newt_scamander/pseuds/newt_scamander
Summary: he trapped the dark lord, but maybe the dark lord trapped him.
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) & Nicholas Scratch (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	height of hate

**Author's Note:**

> explanation of tags; this is some fucked up shit and i don't want anyone not into this to see it if they dont want to. i tagged it everything i could think of to be sure it didn't pop up with these filters on. 
> 
> rape: because i couldn't find a definite age for nick and i don't know that you can consent to having sex with the dark lord, even if you go down there and open yourself up for it completley. we can discuss.

When the morning star fell it was from the highest point of heaven. 

The height of hate. 

His wings couldn’t slow him down, so he ripped them out. 

His hooves didn’t break his fall, so he nailed metal shoes to the bottom. 

His halo shattered, shards implanting themselves in a crown of splintered glass around his head. 

When he found his reflection in a shallow pond, he knew it. He had done it. 

Found a new height of hate. 

Δ 

Earth had become soft. Mortals were soft, witches were soft, even creatures were soft. They had been groomed, doted upon and spoiled until their bellies were soft and their minds even softer. Nicholas Scratch knew that. He didn’t bother taking the classes at the academy that catered to foolish new-age magic. The classes teaching magical modern methods, using cell phones for “emoji” spells, charged by likes and cast by reblogs. He couldn’t stand it. Potions with the essence of herbs, mixed into tinctures and diffused in plugin warmers. It was weak, watered-down magic. As if they were afraid their magic would run out. 

Similarly, no one in modern times knew how to fuck. Witches and warlocks and mortals alike, everyone wanted to be held and comforted. They talked about consent and validation and their feelings. It was too much. Even the weird sisters demanded to be cuddled and stroked once they had come, and they only ever wanted to come once. Nicholas had been to the brink though, the edge of exhaustion that came only from emptying oneself fully, following the white light to salvation before Hell dragged back down into the dirt to be filled with filth again- desire, temptation, and anger. He wanted to be rid of it. 

When Sabrina stepped in, free of her responsibilities to Kinkle and his mortal cohorts, he had hoped she may sate him. The daughter of the dark lord, surely if anyone could absolve him, exhaust him, it would be her. But she wasn’t interested at all. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, reassure him that he didn’t have to be what everyone expected. She told him he was powerful and dark. He didn’t care about that. He wanted to be devastated, he wanted her to tear him down. Put him in his place, so he might find his way back to his feet, clean at last. She wouldn’t though. No matter what he said. 

So, he went back to Dorian Gray and gave himself over to the demons. They knew what he wanted. It was close to torture for demons, but the pleasure Nick experienced made it the closest thing to heaven he could ever get. He knew that. Well, he thought he had known. 

When he had been turned into a flesh Acheron for the dark lord, he had been expecting to suffer. He had been expecting something that made him feel small, something weak. Tearing his soul to shreds and removing Nick from himself. 

Instead, he found something else. Something far better. 

The Dark Lord was a carnal creature. He had cavorted with Lilith to create the first monsters. He fornicated with the queens of kings that betrayed their oaths with him, he fucked servant girls for extra scraps of bread and a warm belly. He took Nick and he took him, down to his core. He hurt him, in the way he needed. He held him down and he took him, whispering the truths he had always known. 

Sometimes he left. He didn’t know where he went because he was as much trapped as the dark lord, nevertheless, sometimes he woke up somewhere unfamiliar. It was cool, the sun was shining, when he rubbed his fingers together, they were smooth and soft. He felt new in those moments, before the dark lord pulled him back to the Acheron, to use again. 

Once he was freed of the Acheron, the dark lord removed from his body and his soul returned to sole possession, he was meant to be happy. He was back at the academy with his peers and his girlfriend, the newly crowned queen of hell. He hoped that his time away and Sabrina’s new position may have bolstered her, made her more desperate for something more serious, more mature. Instead, she seemed to backpedal. He wanted to hold her down and show her how good it could be. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He only wanted to set an example, show her what he wanted and needed. So badly. 

So he started using magic again. Night by night he practiced his glamours, a realm of magic he had never bothered with. He glamoured a sleeping form of himself to take his place in Sabrina’s arms and slipped out. It was easy to teleport to the academy, right to the dark lord’s cell. It barely felt like teleporting, it felt like stepping out onto a paving stone and walking through a garden. He arrived and felt waves of peace settle over him. The dark lord’s presence. He moved faster and faster until he found himself outside the door. He beat it down until the stone cracked and fell off the ancient hinges. Lucifer was standing in the pentagram, arms outstretched. “I waited for you. How long did you think you could stay away?” 

Nick shook his head. “It was foolish to try to avoid this. I became dependent on you, dark lord. But you know that already, don’t you? You know that you’re doing this to me. Free me, a dark lord. So, I can go forward and do your bidding. Please.” He got down on his knees and crouched down. He wanted to be small, he wanted to know that he was under his dark lord’s control. 

Lucifer kneeled and pulled Nick up on his knees. “Repair the door. Seal us in. No one needs to hear this. I remember from our time; you’re rather vocal, aren't you? Have you shown my daughter how loud you are? I’m sure she enjoyed it. I do.” 

Nick fixed the door wordlessly, ashamed of himself. He hadn’t engaged in coitus with his dark lord’s daughter. He didn’t want her, didn’t want her soft skin, her gentle touch. He wanted to be hurt, he wanted to be maimed. The dark lord was the only one who could do it. He didn’t say anything, looking up at the dark lord. Slowly he began unbuttoning his shirt, laying back on the stone floor. He took his time, allowing the dark lord to drink him in. Maybe he could entice him. Things were different outside of the Acheron. He spread his legs and arched his back up. 

Lucifer Morningstar moved between his legs. “You are filthy, Scratch. That’s why my daughter removed me from your flesh. The tiny sliver of purity that existed in me after three billion years was disgusted by you. You would’ve lasted a long time; you are an incredible spell caster. But your soul is nebulous, there is nothing of value. Do you know that? If you tried to underwrite your soul, my demons wouldn’t have taken it. Even hell rejects you.” He dragged his fingers down Nick’s exposed skin as he spoke, dragging a nail along his veins. In the bright light of the moon, he could see the fragments he had left behind. 

Nick was practically mewling under his touch. His insides seemed to be squirming and he knew he was wet. One of satan’s gifts- natural lubrication. He could’ve done without it but he had to admit he enjoyed the vulnerability it forced upon him. He could never lie to the Morningstar, not about this. He reached down and grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, Morningstar.” 

He smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me. You’re nothing. You’re a broken vase that never got what it needed. If only you had had someone take an interest, maybe give you something to care about, you may have mattered someday. You will never matter now.” He pushed his legs up and rocked into him. “You missed this. You sought me out, even when you were freed, you came back to me. What does it mean?” 

Nick couldn’t explain it. He didn’t know why but it was true. He rocked down against the dark lord. He tried not to look at his member- he had seen it once and he had paralyzed him. He liked how it felt inside of him. He could feel it behind his stomach and he wanted to feel him further. He wanted more skin, more red hot cinnamon in his mouth. He couldn’t ask, he was so scared the dark lord would cast him out when he was only just starting to see the edges brighten. He grabbed at the altar cloth under him and closed his eyes. 

Morningstar shifted his fingers to his claws. They were curved, yellow with age. He didn’t mind it, and from the pressure that swelled around him inside Scratch’s mortal form, neither did the boy. He grasped at the cloth, bunching it up in his fists. His eyes rolled back in his head and he started mumbling his prayers, riding out another wave of release. Morningstar wasn’t bound by traditional methods of finishing- though it certainly helped when choosing an incubator for his heirs. That mortal girl, Sabrina’s carrier, she had been like Nick. Wet, loud, soft. Afraid to ask for anything and so easy to manipulate. 

Nick was shivering, curling his toes and clenching his fists. The dark lord’s claws burned where it cut him, he could smell the blood pulling in his clavicle. It would look as if the dark lord had slit his throat if he didn’t stop soon. Nick hoped he would never stop. He peeked up and found that it was neither the face of the monster that had wrestled him to the ground over and over nor the furry face of his sigil. It was the angel. The bright white had replaced the filthy prison cell and Morningstar was angelic. He had golden hair and blue eyes and light eyebrows. Nick reached up for his face, pulling him down swiftly to kiss him and shifting the whole rhythm, sending him over once more. 

The altar cloth was soaked now, Scratch’s thighs shaking and tensing as Morningstar didn’t bother slowing for a reprieve. He knew he didn’t need one, didn’t want one. He was nearly there and forgetting his shame. Morningstar allowed it. It would only make for better torture the next time he abandoned Sabrina with a tin foil copy of himself to be fucked by her father. 

Nicholas couldn’t breathe. He felt so good, so full. Peaceful, the serpentine sirens that filled his head with doubt and his feet with lead were gone. All he could see was the cherubic face of his dark father and all he could feel was him. He was fully in him, and especially after having not touched Nick’s cock a single time, was more masturbating with Scratch’s cunt than engaging with him. Nick was superfluous, a noise machine with auto lubrication. But he could use that too, he could be useful. If this was the dark lord’s plan for him, that would be okay. He could be a toy for him, he could do this. He had hated it with Lilith. She had been too comedic about it, making him wear ridiculous outfits and riding him while moaning so outrageously, he had struggled not to roll his eyes. His body didn’t bother betraying him. He was uninterested at every level. Not so with the Morningstar. Despite coming three times, his cock still twitched and bobbed as the dark lord manipulated his body. He grabbed at his hips, urging him on faster. He could take it. He wanted it all, he wanted to be taken. 

It wasn’t technically a prayer. It was a wish. But the dark lord heard it as a prayer and took it upon himself to fulfill a prayer. Suddenly they were no longer in the academy’s dungeon cell. They were in the court of hell, the princes and castellans were dressed in all their regalia and the dark lord had curly hair on top of his head and at the base of his cock, visible as it rocked into scratch without mercy. The boy felt blood rush to his face and his chest but felt no shame. He was serving his purpose. He didn’t bother suppressing his noises anymore, determined to prove himself. 

“Oh- dark lord. I feel... over-c-come with the weight of your pleasure. I beg you, father, bestow it again.” Nick moaned, reaching down to stroke himself as he rocked on the dark lord’s lap. 

Beezlebub and Dagon pounded their fists on the table and Nick adjusted to meet their pace before his knees gave out as he came for the fourth time. He sank fully on the Morningstar and when he reached out to brace himself, the curly-haired king was gone, replaced with his full Baphomet form realized. He looked down at his abdomen and felt faint at the size. It didn’t matter. The pain was eclipsed fully by the pleasure as he flooded the dark lord’s nethers with a rush of his release, forced out without much warning. He was well and truly spent now, not that it mattered. The dark lord had never cared about ongoing consent. All that mattered was the contract, and the princes of hell are the forefront of contract enforcement. He moved with the Morningstar, powerless to stop him, powerless to cry out, powerless to do much more than whimper and whine and grab at the fur that covered the Morningstar’s chest. 

The white covered his vision now, and his last thought before it overtook him was how blessed he was. 

When Nick woke the next morning in Sabrina’s room and she was already babbling about a cheerleading meet at the green tea shop in Greendale he decided that it would be the last time. He could feel the darkness creeping back in, he wouldn’t let it overtake him. He could be what his master needed, what he wanted. He could be something that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> yall i haven't written a fic in a while especially not one my gf isnt into but here you fkin go mates. enjoy. 
> 
> height of hate, written by me. original poem and a fic. look at me go, neurodivergence who.


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